


Trouble with the Curve

by SomethingBlue42



Series: In Lebanon Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer Deals With Idjits, Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel Drives the Impala (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel is Bad at Feelings (Supernatural), Castiel is Not a Morning Person (Supernatural), Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Castiel is So Done with Dean Winchester, Consent Issues, Crying Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Men Crying, Mild Blood, No Lube, Nurse Castiel (Supernatural), Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Smut, Spit As Lube, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, dean coaches little league
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingBlue42/pseuds/SomethingBlue42
Summary: Sequel to In LebanonThe start of summer found Dean and Castiel settling into a state of domestic bliss.Or so Castiel thought until Dean started acting weird and Castiel felt the fragile balance of their relationship tip back into the unknown.It’s while sifting through brotherly advice and chasing baseballs in the dirt that Castiel began to think whatever was wrong might not be something he could fix.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: In Lebanon Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939000
Comments: 46
Kudos: 157





	1. Domestic Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Just a short - okay short-ish - timestamp/sequel thing.
> 
> While it's suggested that you read **[In Lebanon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235572)** first, it's not ENTIRELY necessary.

Castiel stood at the stove, one hand on his hip as the other poked at the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich in the pan. The house was quiet for once, no whir of drills or buzz of a saw in the yard. He loved Dean and his effort to make some much-needed updates to the farmhouse, but he did not love that Dean always seemed to do it at seven in the morning. 

They’d fallen into a comfortable routine after his brothers left. Dean worked days, up at 6 am usually home by three-thirty or four. Castiel still had the night shift though he’d given up the three-on, four-off schedule to better match Dean’s. He still endied his shift around midnight but he didn’t have to be in until seven., giving them at least a few hours together every day. It wasn’t much - they hadn’t yet managed to have the same days off -but sharing a meal and whatever mundane task either of them wanted to accomplish with the other’s help felt like enough and there was nothing like curling up behind Dean after a long day. Castiel felt a smile tug up one corner of his mouth thinking about how much he enjoyed the millisecond he was allowed to be the big spoon before Dean rolled over and wrapped himself so completely around Castiel it was a good thing Dean had to wake up first because there was no way Castiel was able to escape that grip.

The sound of a screen door banging made Castiel jump, heavy boots clomping down the hall before coming to a stop. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice carried up the stairwell and down the hall.

“Kitchen.” Castiel stifled a yawn as he tipped the sandwich onto a plate.

Dean appeared in the doorway as Castiel shuffled over to the table to set the plate down. He felt Dean’s lips press against his cheek, crowding into his personal space, tossing a couple of shirts over the back of one of the chairs before he wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist. Castiel chuckled, trapped in a bear hug as Dean nuzzled at his neck, breathing him in before resting his cheek on his shoulder. Castiel’s arms curled up, hands holding on to Dean’s forearm, and turned his head to press his lips to his soft hair, breathing in the scent of shampoo and spring air. 

Dean released him after a moment, pressing another kiss to Castiel’s cheek and nipped at his jaw for good measure. Dean reached for the shirts he’d discarded.

“Hey, check it out!” Dean shook out the t-shirt and held it up for Castiel to see the front. 

It was black with what looked like a white and silver graphic of the front of the Impala, “Singer Salvage and Auto” written in an arch above it with “Impalas” written in looping varsity cursive below. Castiel raised an eyebrow looking at Dean’s beaming face. He glanced down at the shirt and then back at Castiel.

“Cool, right? I convinced Bobby to swing for custom shirts this year.” Dean flipped it around, showing him the back, which had “Winchester” in arching slab serif across the shoulders and “36” large underneath. Dean swung it, so it laid over his shoulder and shook out the other. “I got you one too.” He threw it at Castiel, who caught it awkwardly, opening it up to see the back with “Novak” in place of “Winchester” and 63 for his number.

“Why am I 63?”

Dean leaned in. “Because you didn’t play sports in high school like some kind of freak, so I just flipped my number.” Dean pecked his lips. “Gonna be great.”

Dean reached for the sandwich on the plate, and Castiel took it from him before he could get it to his mouth. Dean pouted. “I am not playing baseball, Dean.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, the age limit is like 10, dude.” Castiel’s head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing. Dean blinked. “It’s Little League. I coach Little League, Cas.” Castiel’s mouth popped open, and Dean gave him an exasperated look. “I told you that.” Dean leaned down and snagged a bite of his sandwich before shuffling out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna work on the drywall in the front room a bit before I have to head out to the coaches’ meeting.” Castiel watched his retreating form as he threw one fist in the air. “Gonna be a great season! Go, Impalas!”

Castiel stared at the empty doorway, then looked down at his sandwich. It took a minute for it to sink in. “HEY!”


	2. Either a Rave or Really Terrible Burglers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets home from work to every light on and music blasting. Dean's been busy but it's time for bed.

Later that night, Castiel pulled into the driveway after his shift to find that every light in the house seemed to be on. He cut the engine, the Monte giving a pitiful glug as it gave up exhausted, and he could hear Motley Crew blasting from inside. Castiel could see the Impala in her spot in the barn, proof Dean was home, and the house hadn’t been turned into a Rave by local teens or really terrible burglars. He clicked through his phone as he walked up the front steps, and he definitely didn’t have any messages from Dean about throwing a rager. In fact, he didn’t have any messages from Dean at all.

Castiel let himself in, and the music was so loud he could feel his eardrums vibrating. It made him vaguely nauseous as he dropped his keys on the table and his bag under it. He could see shadows moving behind the clear plastic blocking the front room, a vain attempt to keep the construction debris from making its way to other parts of the house. 

Castiel pawed at it, trying to find the opening and finally got frustrated, swatting his way through until he was able to turn himself around and into the room, shaking the clinging plastic away. Castiel’s jaw dropped as he looked around the room. 

All the drywall was hung, the reading nook in the front window was built out, only missing the cushioned top. It was flanked by two huge built-in bookshelves, and when he looked to the right, he saw Dean, ball cap on backward, wearing holey jeans and an old tee with the sleeves ripped off, using a long paint roller to apply a cool gray color to the walls. Nearly half of the room was done. Castiel shook his head, the pounding music making his skin crawl.

“Dean!” Castiel tried to yell, but he could barely even hear himself. “ _Dean!_ ” he tried again, looking around for the source of the music and found large speakers hooked up to a receiver in the corner of the room. Castiel shuffled over to it, wincing the entire way. He leaned over, but there were too many buttons, so he opted for the next best option and pulled the plug from the wall.

Dean spun around; face screwed up and Castiel actually flinched as Dean surged forward,emitting a sharp _“‘ey!”_ the roller tilting towards the ground like a lance.

Castiel’s mouth popped open as Dean snatched the cord from his hand and Castiel took a step back, showing Dean his palms. “Uh…”

“Don’t pull cords outta the wall like that you’ll fucking electrocute yourself.” Dean threw the cord down and shook his head at Castiel before heaving a sigh and choked up on the handle, turned back around and loaded more paint onto his brush.

“I’m… sorry. I-“

“I hope you like the color. I kinda just guessed.” Dean started applying it to the wall again, and Castiel paused before he shuffled forward, distracted momentarily by what had just this morning been a mere shell and now looked like a livable space. Castiel shook his head to clear it.

“Dean…”

“Hmm?”

Castiel moved to stand next to him, watching as he methodically applied the paint, and his expression was resolutely blank. “Is everything alright?”

“MmmHmm.” He continued to paint, and Castiel just stood there watching him until he turned to load his brush again.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his before looking down at the paint tray on the floor. “If you wanna go to bed, I can put headphones in.” 

Castiel’s eyebrows rose. “You…” Castiel glanced at his watch. “Do you have tomorrow off?” Dean shook his head, focused once again on the painting. “Why are you still up?”

Dean looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “I’m _painting_ , Cas.”

“I… I can see that. Um…” Castiel glanced at his watch. “It’s about one a.m. Maybe you should call it a day?” Castiel glanced around, still shell shocked at the amount of work that had been done. 

Dean paused, roller still pressed to the wall, and narrowed his eyes as Castiel. A look of understanding seemed to flit across his face, and he ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth before moving to lean the roller against the wall. 

“Alright.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose. “Al-Alright?”

Dean nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. Castiel paused at the plastic, glancing back to make sure Dean was still following him, and he was right behind him, eyes cast down to the floor. He reached around Castiel, finding the part in the plastic immediately and held it open for him. Castiel made slow progress up the stairs, ears tuned to Dean’s footsteps behind him, shuffling down the hall towards their room. 

“You need the shower?” 

Castiel turned at the doorway to find Dean tossing his cap to the side before pulling his shirt over his head, his expression neutral. As he wadded the fabric in his hands, Castiel’s eyes wandered his torso before finding his face again. Dean raised his eyebrows. 

“No, no, you go ahead.”

Dean’s hands fell to his belt, and Castiel followed the movement. “You could join me.” A jingle and a flick of a button before his jeans and underwear were around his ankles, arms lifting in the air for balance as he toed off his sneakers and kicked the remaining fabric from his legs.

“Uh.” Castiel was at a loss as Dean took a step forward, large hand coming up to wrap around the back of his neck while his other reached to grip him lightly through his jeans. 

Castiel’s hands went to Dean’s biceps, body warring with his mind. Something was wrong, but Castiel had no idea how even to begin to-

He moaned low in his chest when Dean went straight for the sweet spot under his ear, skin breaking out into gooseflesh, and he could feel his cock begin to fill, Dean stroking him through his pants. Castiel felt Dean’s fingers grapple for his, tugging his hand forward and placing it on his dick, still soft but twitching interestedly at Castiel’s touch. Dean knew Castiel loved this, coaxing him to an erection, but Castiel wasn’t sure if this time it was for Castiel’s pleasure or to get Dean into a mood he didn’t actually want to be in.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, trying to detach him from his neck but only succeeded in drawing Dean closer, the other man pressing his naked body to Castiel’s fully clothed front.

Dean hummed, and his hips nudged forward, dick expanding rapidly now in Castiel’s hand, his face pressing into Castiel’s neck and breathing in deep. Castiel’s eyes sank closed, feeling Dean’s plush lips brush his pulse point, and just like that, he was gone.

“Fuck I don’t wanna wait,” Dean muttered, and Castiel could only watch as Dean yanked his belt open, fumbling into his fly. 

Castiel tripped over his own feet as Dean grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him forward, body pinning Dean’s against the wall. Dean kissed him dirty, tongue fucking into Castiel’s mouth, hand jerking his cock hard with that perfect flick of the wrist that made Castiel’s knees go weak. His mouth opened in a gasp as Dean’s teeth caught his bottom lip, scraping the delicate flesh. He pulled back, and Castiel watched slack-jawed as Dean sucked in his cheeks and brought his hand up, spitting into it before gripping Castiel’s cock again. Castiel’s forehead thunked against Dean’s, mouth opening in a silent moan, but Dean was tilting his head back, whispering _hey hey hey_ as his other hand cupped Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel looked up, vision pulsing with the blood in his cock, and it was second nature to take Dean’s fingers into his mouth, three thick digits, and Castiel could taste the tang of sweat and something vaguely chemical, likely the paint. He was too lust drunk to care, sucking at Dean’s fingers while Dean fucked them into his mouth.

“Get ’em wet, Cas. Need you to slick them up for me.”

Castiel’s eyes opened, brows creasing, and coherency reared its head, but a swipe of Dean’s thumb over the head of his dick chased it away again. After Cas had properly laved every digit with his tongue, leaving them dripping as Dean pulled his hand from his mouth, the sight of Dean working his hand between his back and the wall to get at his own ass nearly caused Castiel’s knees to buckle.

“Dean… we need-“Castiel’s voice cut off as Dean let out a hiss then a soft whine, his forehead falling to Castiel’s shoulder, hand stopping it’s rough stroke just to squeeze him, and Castiel swore he saw stars.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whimpered, grinding his forehead against Castiel’s collarbone, shoulder rolling as he worked his fingers roughly into his hole. “Mmm.”

Castiel moved to reach for Dean’s cock again, but the other man was turning, arching his lower back and planting both hands against the hallway wall, feet spreading on either side of Castiel’s. Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot in anticipation, head hung low on his neck, and Castiel laid a delicate hand on Dean’s hip.

“Dean, we need to-”

“I need you inside of me, Cas, come on.” 

Castiel fought a full-body shiver. “We need lube-”

Dean let out a frustrated growl ripping Castiel’s hand from his hip and turning it, so it was palm up. Castiel shivered as Dean ran his tongue from wrist to fingertip and then spat. “There, instant lube. Go.”

Dean planted his hands on the wall again, and Castiel did as he was told, though a little reluctant and Dean whined, shifting his hips back, so the tip of Castiel’s dick grazed the smooth skin of his ass cheek. Dean hummed, practically vibrating, and Castiel’s brain turned off, hand reaching over his head to try and grip his shirt at the back of his neck.

“No!’ Dean’s voice was like a slap, and Castiel froze. Dean was eyeing him over his shoulder. “Leave your clothes on…”

Castiel lowered his hand back down, fingertips brushing Dean’s hip, and Dean dropped his head. “Grab my shoulder.” Castiel lifted it to rest gently on Dean’s deltoid, feeling his skin erupt in goose flesh under his palm. “Now, put it in.”

“Dean…”

“You want me to beg?” Dean’s chin tucked over his shoulder, green eyes flashing. “Fine.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened as a litany of filth flowed from Dean’s lips, his tone at odds with the speech, blunt and determined while he begged. Dean always joked about not making him beg, and Castiel never did, but this… Castiel was so hard he could barely breathe.

“That’s right, Cas. I want that big, hard dick up my ass now. No time for lube or prep. I’m still fucking loose from when you fucked me last night. It was so good, Cas. I need it again, please. Please don’t make me wait. I want to feel you fucking stretch me- fuck yessssss.”

Dean hissed, his head falling loose on his neck as Castiel pushed past the tight ring of muscle guarding Dean’s entrance, and Dean’s back arched, trying to force himself back faster. Castiel had to grip his hip, squeezing hard at Dean’s shoulder to stop him from ending this too soon. Dean’s back moved with his rapid breath, the muscles sliding over each other. Castiel was mesmerized, leaning back at the waist to see everything, the hand on Dean’s hip adjusting so he could press his thumb into one of the dimples in his lower back.

Dean finally let out a tortured groan. “ _Come on, Cas!_ Fuck, I need you. Yes, fuck yeah, like that. Work me over with that big dick. Fuck, Cas, it feels so fucking good. God, you’re huge, stretching me so fucking perfect. Harder. Mmm, come on, baby, I know you know where my spot is, stop teasing me. Oh, fuck, you’re so close. Deeper. Yeah, harder… just a little… oh my god… fuck fuck fuck. Cas I… I… holy shit right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Fucking pound into me, Cas come on baby, please. Harder. Harder! _Harder, Cas_!”

Castiel growled, the hand on Dean’s shoulder jerking him back roughly against him as his other hand left Dean’s hip to reach up to grip his jaw between forefinger and thumb. Dean let out a filthy moan using his arms to force himself back into Castiel, meeting each sharp snap of his hips. It seemed that Dean had run out of words, shouting and whining and panting, the click of his throat loud as he swallowed hard. Castiel could feel him pulsing, his rim fluttering around the base of Castiel’s cock as Dean began to tremble. 

A bead of sweat dripped from Castiel’s temple and down his nose, splashing onto Dean’s lower back and god, had it ever been this good before? Dean cried out, throwing his head back as his ass clamped down, and Castiel’s eyes rolled back in his head, gripping Dean’s shoulder hard enough to bruise as his palm slipped down to press to Dean’s throat.

“Are you gonna come, Cas?” One of Dean’s hands fell from the wall going between his legs. Castiel felt the brush of his fingers against his balls, and his hips stuttered, vision beginning to bleed white at the edges. “How do you want it? Do you wanna pull out and fucking mark me with your come? I’m yours; you don’t need to, but _fuck,_ it would be so hot, feeling you on my skin. I could get on my knees for you, let you come on my chest, my face….”

Castiel’s breathing hitched, a dirty vision flashing across his mind of Dean’s face streaked white, his come clinging to his eyelashes. There wasn’t time, Castiel was already coming. A feral shout ripped from his chest as his release coated them both, slicking the way and Castiel let out a yell that sounded almost like a sob, his balls pulling so tight it hurt, but it felt so fucking good. Dean was whining too, hand working furiously over his cock, and when he came, streaking the wallpaper in front of them, his ass clamped down again, wringing the last of Castiel’s orgasm from him along with a final declaration.

“Oh my fucking god, Dean.” 

Castiel slumped against him, forehead thunking between Dean’s shoulder blades, and both of them were trembling so hard he was afraid they were going to fall. Dean was pressed hard against the wall, and the hand between his legs came up to plant against the wall like the other, palms flat, elbows curled, and his cheek pressed against the wallpaper. The only sound was their panting breaths and the click as they tried to swallow on dry throats.

Castiel was the first to move, lifting his head weakly. “That… that was…”

Dean gave a soft growl acknowledgment and then hissed as Castiel grew soft enough to slip out. Come dribbled down his thigh and onto the runner. Castiel toed at it with his shoe. Dean attempted to push himself back so his legs would bear his full weight, and he tottered wobbly. Castiel’s hands snatched out to steady him.

“Dean?” Castiel coaxed him to turn and face him and eventually forced him, taking in Dean’s tired eyes and the small satisfied smile on his lips. He leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Castiel, the gesture melting the other man as it always did. Dean could play him like a damn fiddle. “Are you okay?”

Dean gave a satisfied hum, his arms lifting to curl around Castiel’s neck and press his naked body against Castiel’s still clothed front. “Fuck, that was amazing.”

Castiel was keenly aware that Dean had not answered his question. Guilt poked at him. “I love you.” Dean’s muscles tensed.

A pause. “I know.” Dean pressed his face to Castiel’s neck.

Castiel frowned but let his hand run soothingly up and down Dean’s back, feeling the tight muscles there and waiting for them to loosen, but they never did. Castiel turned his head to kiss Dean’s temple, then nuzzle his cheek and eventually claim his mouth, Dean practically melting into him. Castiel rested his forehead against Dean’s peeking at him from slitted lids, and his face was soft and calm. Castiel’s hand came up to rub down the back of his head as he pulled back to look Dean in the face. His eyelids fluttered sleepily.

“You still want that shower?” Castiel brushed the backs of his fingers against Dean’s cheek.

“Should.” Dean’s eyes remained closed, and a line drew itself between his eyebrows, his lips puckering in a pout. “Don’t wanna.”

Castiel kissed him, relishing the feel of Dean’s skin under his palms a little sticky from dried sweat, his natural musk strong but not unpleasant. Actually, Castiel kind of liked it. 

“Let’s get you to bed.” Castiel ushered him into their room, leaving Dean’s clothes in the hall and beginning to discard his own as they walked. 

By the time he was guiding Dean into bed, he was naked as well, pulling back the blankets and nudging Dean in before shuffling around to his own side. He clicked off his lamp, and now the only light was from the hallway. Castiel rolled onto his side to try and block it. Dean was curled on his side, back to Castiel, and as sleep began to drag him under, he realized that was the first time they’d shared a bed when Dean wasn’t holding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	3. Gray Dots and Sage Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel calls Gabriel for relationship advice. Yeah.

Castiel woke up the next day around eleven to an empty bed and a silent house. He rubbed his face, squinting at the empty space next to him, blanket thrown back as if Dean had gotten up in a hurry. Castiel sighed, stretching his sore body, and a gnawing worry settled in his chest. He didn’t know how to talk to Dean when he clammed up. Before, he would just disappear for a while, and when Dean got over whatever it was or got tired of being ignored, he’d reach out. 

Castiel couldn’t exactly do that now, not when he slept next to the man every night. Also, he supposed it wasn’t exactly a healthy way to handle conflict. He reached for his phone, tugging it from the charger to scroll through his notifications, and clicked immediately on the message from Dean.

Castiel pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and started a reply three times before finally hitting on something that sounded non-threatening and natural.

Castiel rolled his eyes when they started again, flinging his arms out to lay starfish style, the hand with the phone hanging off the side of the bed. He’d fallen back into a doze when the buzz jolted him back to full consciousness.

Castiel felt a dopey grin pull across his face rolling his head to the side and glancing down at Dean’s side of the bed. His brow furrowed, fingertip rubbing at a smudge on the fitted sheet before lifting the top sheet and quilt to reveal a dark red smear of dried blood. He scrambled to look down at himself, pushing the covers back to heft the weight of his soft cock, stretching it to see a few smears of caked blood around the base. He fell back against the headboard, one hand ripping through his hair as his other fisted and hit the pillow next to him, guilt flooding his chest and threatening to drown him. He should have stopped himself. He knew something was wrong, but he let Dean drag him in, convinced Castiel to fuck him dry. God, it had to have hurt -the evidence was right there on the bedsheet – and Castiel couldn’t stand the idea of it much less cope with the reality.

Castiel snatched up his phone again, thumb hovering over Dean’s name before he ultimately dipped down and hit Gabriel’s contact instead. He fidgeted, trying not to eye his dick, throat closing as the phone rang several times.

“Yalloh!”

“Gabe.”

“Kitty Cas? Is that _you?_ ”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Ye-”

“Well, I have just not spoken to you in… gosh… lemme look at my calendar…”

Castiel rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry I haven’t called more.”

“Yeah, yeah, having loads of sex with your super-hot boyfriend takes a lot out of you. I totally get it. What’s up, buttercup?”

“Uh… well… funny you should mention that…” Castiel swallowed thickly. He didn’t know what he had expected to say to his brother, but it clearly wasn’t coming to him on the fly either.

“Oh no, what happened?” Castiel heard a thump and wondered what Gabriel had just dropped to focus his attention. He hoped it wasn’t one of his children.

“I…” Castiel swallowed hard, feeling a blush heat his cheeks even though Gabe had no idea what he wanted to talk about. 

“Did you guys break up or-?”

“No!” Castiel’s chest gave a painful squeeze at the very idea. “No… well…” Castiel swallowed hard, feeling as if the air had sucked itself from the room. “Not yet… I’m not sure if... Things are…” Castiel pressed his lips together in frustration.

A pause. “Okay, Castiel, I’m gonna need you to use more words here.”

“He’s… he’s acting really weird,” Castiel whined finally, pressing his palm to his forehead, and the whole story just fell out, Gabriel only interrupting once towards the end.

“Wait… spit as lube works for you guys?”

Castiel felt his cheeks burn as his heart galloped. “Well, apparently not judging by the blood on the sheets and my…” Castiel sighed. “Not for how rough we were. No.”

Gabriel let out the sigh of a man resigned to his fate. “I don’t wanna ask this but is it _usually_ rough between you two?”

Castiel shifted. “No… I mean… I don’t… what constitutes as ro-?” Castiel cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s never asked for that before. No.”

“Kali liked it rough when she was mad at me.” Gabriel mused.

“I didn’t _do_ anything!” Castiel exclaimed. Everything was fine when I left for work; I didn’t hear from him all day-”

“Maybe he was mad about that? Kali always hated it when I-“He heard Gabriel give a beleaguered sigh, and Castiel could see his brother making air quotes, “- _neglected_ her.” Gabe snorted.

Castiel frowned. “That seems really bitchy.”

Gabriel let out a humorless laugh. “Oh. It was.”

“Dean’s not really bitchy, Gabe,” Castiel groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you with your gay boyfriend, Kitten. I think I might be ill-equipped for this.” Gabe heaved a sigh, and Castiel rolled his eyes. “Although, who would have thought Dean Winchester was a bottom.” Gabriel snickered, and Castiel sat straight up in bed.

“You will never, ever bring that up in front of him, or anyone else, Gabriel Novak. Is that clear?”

A pause. “Jesus, okay _Howard,_ message received loud and clear.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “Okay… sorry…”

“Nearly pissed myself, thanks for that.”

Castiel snorted and rubbed his face. “So, should I, like, apologize?” Castiel’s voice pitched high at the end, and he winced.

Gabriel hummed darkly. “No… no, not if you don’t know what he’s mad about. You don’t wanna walk into the ‘what are you apologizing for’ trap.” The line was silent for a moment. “Do something nice for him.”

Castiel blinked. “Like what?”

“I dunno, do you people get each other flowers?”

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard he thought they would fall out of his head, his sigh rattling through the line. “Yes, Gabriel, homosexuals will buy each other flowers; however, Dean doesn’t seem like a flowers kind of guy, does he?”

Gabriel chuckled. “Well, he doesn’t seem like the ‘take it up the ass’ type either but-”

“ _GABRIEL!_ ”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t get your dick in a knot.” Gabriel sighed. “What does he like?”

Castiel blinked. “Me?”

Gabriel let out a bright burst of laughter. “Oh shit, Castiel, I didn’t know you were such a self-centered prick.”

“Ex-cuse me?”

“The only thing you know about the guy you’re living with is that he likes _you_? Fuck, man…”

Castiel’s mouth opened and closed, huffing indignantly. “No… he likes… he likes _baseball_. He’s coaching a little league team. He got shirts. And he bought a new glove, so he’s been smacking a ball into it for like a week. Just walking through the house and…” Castiel shrugged as if Gabriel could see him.

“Oh yeah, that makes sense,” Gabriel muttered, and Castiel could hear the scratch of his fingers against his stubble as he rubbed his chin in thought. “Dude was a serious jock. Hey, why don’t you ask him to teach you to play!”

Castiel pulled the phone from his ear and looked down at it like it might explode before putting it back to his ear. “I’m sorry, have you _met_ me?”

“Oh, come on, Castiel, you’re not as uncoordinated as you claim to be. You wouldn’t be able to do your job.”

“I don’t know what you think nurses do, Gabe, but I am not required to hit anything that’s coming at me at like forty miles an hour.”

“Oh, it’s faster than that,” Gabriel mused and Castiel growled. “Just… ask him to show you how to play catch. It’s about the quality time and doing something _he_ likes.”

Castiel thought for a moment. He could definitely do that. “O-o-okay. I’ll try it.”

“Good!” Gabriel’s voice was bright. “Oh, and Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“You seem to get added points if you suffer and don’t complain about it, so… just… good luck, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	4. Lunch Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gives Gabriel's advice a try. Dean's stomach rejoices.

Castiel pulled into the lot of Singer Salvage and Auto a little after noon with a bag of BBQ from the smoker stand out off Rt 41 and Dean’s gloves, the old one and his new one that held a baseball and was wrapped in a thick rubber band for some reason. He spotted Dean in an open bay, pouring something from a jug into a small compact that looked vaguely like a shoe. Dean looked up at the sound of the Monte’s engine, seemingly attuned to the hellcar now, and Castiel could see him shaking his head. He put the Monte in park and grabbed the food, nerves tickling in his stomach as he climbed out and made his way towards Dean, who was watching the last bit of oil pour into the engine before catching the drip with the cap and screwing it back on.

“What have you done to it no-” Dean cut himself off abruptly when he looked at Castiel, his eyes going from feigned annoyance to genuine annoyance. “What are you wearing that for?”

Castiel looked down, running a hand over the graphic of the Impala on his shirt. “You... you gave it to me?”

Dean blinked at him, mouth opening and closing before he looked away, the bolt in his jaw flexing, and Castiel wondered what he’d done, almost flat out asked because this felt awful. He just wanted to fix it, whatever it was. Then as if remembering it suddenly, he thrust the bag out at Dean.

“I brought you lunch.”

Dean looked back at him and then down at the bag in his head. His annoyance seemed to melt away. He brought a hand up, wiggling his fingers before pointing. “‘That the roadside barbecue?”

Castiel nodded, stepping closer and offering the whole bag when a big smile pulled across Dean’s face. “It’s all yours.”

Dean looked up, delighted. “Yeah? Aw, thanks, Cas.” He reached out and wrapped one arm around Castiel, giving him two hard pats to his shoulder. “Lemme wash my hands. Can you stay a bit?”

“I was hoping to…” Castiel said slowly, eyes cautious and Dean grinned, shooting him a wink as he handed him back the bag and shuffled back into the garage. 

When Dean returned, his coveralls were rolled down to his waist, the arms tied around his hips to keep it in place. Castiel was leaned against the hood of the Monte, the paper bag sitting beside him, and enjoyed the view of Dean striding towards him across the lot, the watery spring sunshine throwing his eyelashes into high relief. Dean gave him a grin as he approached then dove into the bag, pulling out a sandwich wrapped in wax-paper, licking his lips as he unwrapped it. The noise he made when he took a bite was obscene. Castiel cleared his throat.

“‘orry.” He swallowed. “Didn’t have time for breakfast.”

“Yeah, about that-”

“Hey,’ Dean reached out a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers against Castiel’s bicep, a ghost of a touch, and then it was gone. “I’m… you know… about last night…” Dean’s eyes flicked back to his sandwich, eyeing it as if it held some sort of answer before he bit into it again.

Castiel’s heart lurched, trying not to sound too eager. “Yeah, I saw the sheets.” Dean winced and refused to look at him, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. “Are you okay?” Dean nodded, chewing laboriously. “If I hurt you I-“

“Look, no chick-flick moments,” Dean threw out a hand, talking around the wad of food still in his mouth. “I asked for it, and I got what I wanted.”

Castiel paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “You wanted me to hurt you?”

Dean’s head fell back, hands dropping to his sides. “Jesus Christ, _no_.” He brought his sandwich back up again, and something very riveting must have been happening in there, or at least that’s what it looked like from the focus Dean was giving it. “Just…” he pressed his lips together, eyes moving to Castiel’s chest before flicking back to his sandwich. His shoulders sagged. “Just a bad day.” Dean shook his head and shoved the rest of it in his mouth, chewing methodically.

“Okay…” Castiel peered at him still, watching him wad up the wax paper and shoot it into the paper bag before digging out a few of the Styrofoam containers and a set of plastic cutlery. It seemed reasonable. Castiel didn’t think he’d ever seen Dean have a bad day. Or maybe Dean had just never _let_ him see it. “As long as you’re okay… _we’re_ okay…”

Dean looked up at him, bewildered, having just ripped off the plastic lid to some macaroni and cheese. Dean set it down on the hood and moved to plant a foot on either side of Castiel’s crossed ankles, hands going to his biceps and rubbing, green eyes contrite as they held his.

“ _Yeah_ , Cas. We’re fine. Shit, I’m sorry, man.” Dean squeezed his arm, pressing his lips together. Then a laugh bubbled up; Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I guess I did come at you pretty strong, huh?” Dean rolled his neck, eyes widening a bit before blowing air past his lips. “Was really fuckin’ good, though.” He chuckled, going for his mac and cheese again, and Castiel felt himself blush. “You’re blushing there, Novak.” Dean reached out to pinch at his cheek, and Castiel swatted his hand away.

“Hey, um…” Castiel shifted on the hood, and Dean looked at him, shoveling noodles into his mouth. Castiel scrunched up his nose but continued on. “When… when’s your first game?”

Dean’s fork on the way to his mouth trembled, and he hopped back just in time for the noodle to fall into the dirt and not his shirt. “Aw dammit.” Dean swallowed what was already in his mouth and kicked the noodle aside. “Uh… dunno. Why?”

“Well… I was wondering if you’d… teach me to play?” Castiel winced, and Dean’s face shifted to confusion, looking into the middle distance and giving his head a shake before his eyes seemed to focus. 

“Why do you have my gloves?” Dean squinted through the windshield of the Monte, and Castiel looked over his shoulder at it.

“Well-”

“You want me to teach you _right now_?” Dean’s face was incredulous, and Castiel reached up to rub his earlobe.

“I mean… no…. I-”

“Was this barbecue a _bribe_?” Dean dropped the now empty cup and fork into the bag, stepping back to cross his arms over his chest, a smile tugging at his lips.

Castiel decided to play along. “Maybe.” 

Dean beamed, reaching out to hit his bicep. “Grab the gloves.” Dean cocked his head back and began to walk across the dirt. Castiel grinned, scurrying to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	5. Dark House, Darker Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets home after his shift and Dean isn't there. And he's not answering his phone. Fuck.

Things seemed to go back to normal after that except for the fact that Dean expected him to bring him lunch every day now and for them to toss the ball around. Castiel spent more time flinching away from it and chasing it around in the dirt than catching it, but Dean found it amusing, and Castiel liked to see him happy. Now that he was paying closer attention, Castiel noticed the difference in Dean’s silences. When he was working on the house to work on it or when he was doing it to distract from something else. 

Castiel tried not to worry. Dean told him they were good, and it felt like they were. So, when it was nearly time for him to go to work on Sunday and Dean still wasn’t back from church, he managed to push down his anxiety and just shoot him a text.

Castiel was settling behind the wheel of the Monte when his phone dinged.

Castiel had to lay his head on the steering wheel; he was laughing so hard.

Castiel was back in Lebanon city limits in record time after his shift ended, ready to be home and to be with Dean even if he was unconscious. It was irritating, this niggling insecurity that could only be soothed by close contact. Castiel knew it was his own problem and didn’t want to burden Dean with it. Nobody liked a stage five clinger, and Castiel _was not_ that. He was probably just tired. 

He almost missed the driveway to the farmhouse, the porch light usually the best visual guide to help him in the pitch-black night on their rural road, but the porch light wasn’t on. No light in the house was on, and when the Monte’s feeble headlights swept across the barn, it was empty. Castiel fumbled with his phone, nearly forgetting to put it in park, so he rolled forward several feet, and when he stomped on the break the lap belt almost crushed his diaphragm. 

No messages from Dean. Castiel jabbed at his name in his contacts and lifted the phone to his ear. With each passing ring, his throat closed a little tighter, heartbeat a little bit faster. When it went to voicemail, Castiel could only stare down at it while Dean’s voice said “This is Dean Winchester. Leave your name at the beep you sorry mother-“ _BEEP!_

“Dean? It’s Cas. Um…” Castiel looked around outside the car but could see nothing but black outside the vehicle. “It’s 12:24, and you’re not home. Are you… okay? I… just call me when you get this.”

Castiel ended the call and began to talk himself down from the ceiling, trying to think of where Dean might be. Everything was closed; it was past midnight on a Sunday in a bible belt town. He’d just come from the hospital, and even if something _had_ happened to Dean in the twenty or so minutes Castiel had been driving, one of his colleagues would have had the front desk call him immediately. Who would he even call to try and find him? Certainly not his father. Sam was in California. Bobby?

The old man sounded gruffer than usual when he answered his phone on the third ring.” Hulloh? Who the hell is this?”

“Um… Mr. Singer? It’s… Castiel, Dean’s…” Castiel’s throat closed. “Um.”

“I know who yeh are, Castiel. What’s going on?” His voice was clearer now, the creak of a mattress in the background. 

“Dean… well, he’s not here. And I don’t know where he… would be if he’s not here…” Castiel fought the growing lump in his throat, his chest constricting. “Have you talked to him?”

“Not today, no.” Bobby’s speech was slow, evidence of his concern. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

“This afternoon. I texted him before my shift because he wasn’t back from church yet. He said he was working on the Buick. At the garage.”

Bobby huffed and groaned, and Castiel guessed he was now standing. “I’ll walk down there and check. You call the hospital.”

“I just came from there. They would have called me.”

“Oh yeah, you work there. Forgot.”

“Yeah… I mean unless…” Castiel’s heart seized, and all the breath left his body, vision tunneling. Bobby was saying his name, and he had to shake his head to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, ‘unless what?’”

Castiel closed his eyes feeling them burn. “Unless he’s in the morgue.”

The line was silent. “I’m almost to the garage. You got his dad’s number?”

“No, sir.” Castiel cleared his throat when it broke.

“What about Jo Harvelle?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Call her. I’ll call John. We’ll find him.”

Castiel didn’t bother to say goodbye, just hung up. He’d call Jo. There was a call he had to make first, and he wasn’t sure he could do it without throwing up. He clicked through his contacts all the way down to M, and his thumb hovered, his hand shaking so hard he was worried he was going to miss and call his brother Michael on accident. He took a deep breath and brought the trembling phone to his ear.

His blood pressure was through the roof, he could tell from the way his vision was pulsing, and his ears were roaring so loud he almost didn’t hear the pathologist say, “Jewell County Morgue, this is Tessa.” 

“T-“ He cleared his throat. “Tessa? This is Castiel Novak”

“Oh, hey, Castiel. Need me to make a pickup?”

“Um, no. I need to… check to see if someone is there.” Castiel let his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

“Oh… okay. Um, name?”

“De-“ Castiel was cut off by two beeps in his ear, and he looked down at his phone to see Bobby was calling. “Tessa, I’m sorry. I’ll call you right back.” He didn’t wait for her reply, just switched over to the other call. “Did you find him?”

“Yeah, he’s at his place, ya idjit.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Wh-what?”

“John says the Impala’s in the garage over there. Don’t worry; I’ll give him an earful about proper communication when I see him. It’ll involve my boot in his ass.”

Castiel let out a laugh that surprised him, and then he felt tears sliding down his cheeks. “Uh, thanks, Bobby. Sorry… sorry again for waking you.”

“No problem, boy. Take a breath and get some rest. Maybe have a nightcap. I sure am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	6. Two Phone Calls, One Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally calls Castiel. It doesn't go well. Michael provides one of his 3-Point-Plans and Castiel finally gets some context.

Castiel didn’t have a nightcap. He also didn’t get any rest, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He’d fallen into a fitful doze around six a.m. and woke to his phone buzzing in his clenched fist. He squinted, wondering who would be calling him this early and when he saw Dean’s name on the screen, he nearly dropped it.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Cas fuck man. I’m-” 

“Why didn’t you call?” Castiel hadn’t meant to yell, but _god,_ he was so relieved to hear Dean’s voice that the terror finally faded, and only anger was left in its wake.

“I meant to…” Dean’s voice was small, and Castiel waited, but he didn’t elaborate further.

“Are… are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“I said I was sorry!” Dean’s voice was hard, defensive.

“Do you even know what it was like to pull up here, to an empty house, and have _no_ fucking idea where you were?”

“Look, don’t be a drama que-”

“ _I called the morgue, Dean_.” Castiel’s throat closed, and he turned his head away from the phone as he choked.

“Fuck,” he heard Dean mutter. “Cas, I’m so-”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.” Castiel sat up, skin crawling. “I’m not… I don’t want to say something and not be able to take it back.”

Dean scoffed. “Like what? You’re gonna break up with me? Maybe you should.”

Castiel’s mouth fell open, stunned. “Wha-“ He closed his mouth so hard his teeth clacked. “That’s why. We’ll talk later. When we’ve both gotten our shit together. Goodbye Dean”

Castiel hung up and heaved a breath, arms wrapping around himself as he leaned forward over his stretched legs. He’d been through breakups before, and maybe it’d just been so long ago that he’d forgotten, but _fuck_ had it ever hurt this much? What had he _done?_

He laid back, mind crawling over the past month with obsessive hunger, examining every interaction with naked clarity, and he still wasn’t sure. They’d only been together a few months officially. Hadn’t even known each other a full year, but Castiel was having a hard time fathoming life without Dean. 

He looked down at the phone in his hand and blinked at the screen. The baseball thing obviously hadn’t worked. Whatever Castiel had done, Dean was still upset about it. He opened his contacts and jabbed at one, lifting his phone to his ear, fingers of his other hand thrumming on his thigh through the blanket.

Michael answered on the second ring. “Castiel? What’s wrong?”

Castiel told him. Everything he’d told Gabriel and then everything that had happened since. When he was through, he fell back onto the bed shakily, hand coming up to rub his forehead as he waited for his brother to speak.

“Okay, first of all…” Michael began, and Castiel waited with bated breath for the relief that always came with one of his brother’s five-point plans. “Why would you call Gabriel about this? He’s _divorced_! And with that shitty advice, I think I now know why.”

Castiel sighed heavily and may have kicked his feet petulantly under the blanket. “ _Michael_.”

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, look.” Michael swallowed, and Castiel could see him nodding his head, getting geared up for a big speech. “Whatever you did? It’s over. Wash your hands of it, forget about it. You can’t change it. It doesn’t _matter_ what it is. Dean hasn’t told you. He might not ever tell you. What you have to do now is let him know that you are committed to fixing whatever is wrong, and you want to know if he’s committed to that too.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “But… what if he’s not?”

“Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it,” Michael dismissed. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna tell him you want to talk and invite him over for dinner. You make something you know he likes. You get the wine he likes-”

“Dean doesn’t drink wine.”

“You get the _beer_ that he likes,” Michael amended pointedly, and Castiel tucked his chin chastised. “You use Mom and Dad’s wedding china but no candles. Maybe have some music but nothing too romantic. You have to walk a fine line between how you would handle a third date and how you’d handle closing a business deal.”

Castiel’s face scrunched. “How are those even remotely on the same spectrum?”

“Because you want them both to turn out in your favor.”

Castiel was quiet. “I could make a picnic and take him out to this overlook spot. It was his favorite place as a kid. He’s taken me there a few times.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably.

“There ya go,” Michael said, and Castiel could see him gesture enthusiastically. It made him smile.

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“No problem, Kitten. And hey.” Castiel stilled, giving his brother his full attention. “Keep your pants on, okay? Eyes on the prize. You’re playing the long game here.”

#

Castiel was standing over a bin of watermelons, frantically googling out to pick the best one when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up, and a pretty blond woman was smiling at him, her blue eyes exuding warmth. Castiel looked into the bin.

“I don’t know how to pick the best one either, I was just looking it up.” He wiggled his phone, and she gave a tinkling laugh, a hand coming up to press the pads of her fingers to the tip of her nose.

“No, I…” She cleared her throat and offered him her hand. “I’m Layla.” Castiel took her hand, lips quirking to one side in a confused smile. “My son played baseball for Dean last summer-”

Castiel’s eyes widened, and he turned more fully to her, giving her hand a gentle shake. “Oh, I’m sorry. Dean never mentioned… I mean, I’m terrible at sports. He doesn’t talk about coaching much with me.”

Layla’s smile went a little strained. “Yes, well, I just…” Layla huffed a breath, crossing her wrists in front of her and regarding Castiel with a weary expression. “I didn’t reach out after the coaches meeting and after what happened at church yesterday I…” She cut herself off, her hands lifting, and her face showed immense guilt. “I… I don’t know what to say.” She pressed a hand over her eyes, embarrassed. “This town… it’s… “

“Okay, hold up.” Castiel waved a hand, and her face went a little fearful, glancing around as if Castiel were about to make a scene. “I need you to explain to me everything you just talked about. In detail. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Layla’s face shifted to relief, her shoulders sagging as she reached to touch his arm again. “Yes, but please. Let me. It’s the least I can do after… well… I’ll explain when we get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
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> 


	7. What's Eating Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an enlightening conversation, Castiel confronts Dean.

Castiel stood in the kitchen of the farmhouse, hands hooked on the edge of the counter he leaned against and waited. He was expecting Dean any moment now. After talking to Layla, he’d sent Dean a message that had taken him nearly forty-five minutes to compose.

He heard the screen door open and close, heavy boots coming down the hall before they paused. “Cas?” Dean’s voice timid, not enough to echo up the stairs or much farther down the hall.

“Kitchen.” Castiel’s hands gripped the counter hard as he took a deep, soothing breath through his nose. 

Dean appeared in the doorway, freshly showered and wearing a soft sage flannel with his dark denim jeans and nice boots. He looked like he wanted to step in but was afraid of being told no. Castiel had tried to school his features, but seeing Dean in front of him, he couldn’t keep the fury buried. Dean’s face attempted a charming smile, but it seemed his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

“Didn’t know you had the day off.”

Castiel squeezed the counter tight once more before pushing off it, taking a deep sobering breath. “I called out.”

Dean’s brows creased. “Oh…”

“I ran into a woman at the grocery store today.” Castiel’s steps were slow, and Dean’s eyes fell to watch the sinuous movement of his body before flicking up to his eyes once more.

“Oh?” Dean asked after a moment, and he was forced to tuck his chin down a bit to hold the shorter man’s gaze as Castiel got closer.

“She told me you used to coach her son…”

Dean’s eyes widened, and looked down immediately. He reached up to run his hand over the hair at the back of his head. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Fuck, Dean, why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Dean’s eyes stayed on the floor, a hand petting the back of his head before he shifted from foot to foot and crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel waited. When Dean didn’t say anything, he huffed a perturbed sigh out his nose and jerkily crossed his own arms over his chest, increasing the intensity of his stare. Dean began to fidget. The silence stretched.

“I’ve got all night.”

Dean’s eye roll took over his entire body as his arms fell to his sides. “What do you want me to say, Cas? That I went to the coaches’ meeting and was fucking told that parents were _concerned_ about some of the coaches that were chosen this year. That it took me twenty fucking minutes to realize they were talking about _me!_ And _you._ And then I watched as people I’ve known my entire life voted that I was a _danger_ _to children_.”

Dean reached up to wipe hard at his mouth, his eyes going glassy, and Castiel made to step forward, but Dean held out a hand, eyes flashing angrily. Castiel forced himself to wait and allow Dean to compose himself, biting back the admonishment that Dean didn’t need to hide from him. Dean took a few sobering breaths and squared his shoulders. 

“It’s over. They don’t want me to coach? That’s fine.” Dean pursed his lips and gave a careless wave of his hand. “More time for me to work on the Buick before the conference finals. Unless _they_ decide I’m also a danger to cars.” Dean rolled his eyes.

Castiel watched him place his hands on his hips and look away brooding. Castiel rallied his voice, using the soft tone he usually only deployed when informing a patient’s loved one that they didn’t make it. “And what about yesterday?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to his, mouth falling open in shock before he snapped it shut and looked down, jaw clenching but not quick enough to mask the well of his eyes and a single tear tracked down his cheek. He reached up to wipe it away angrily before Castiel could, sniffing sharply.

“Whatever. Just means I don’t have to go anymore.” Dean grumbled and scuffed his toe against the floor. “Only did it because it’s what you do here. Didn’t believe in any of that crap anyway.” Dean bit his bottom lip hard. “No god in existence would make something as fucked up as me.”

Castiel latched on to Dean’s face, both hands forcing him to meet Castiel’s gaze as Dean blinked more tears down his face, and the deep shame there shifted to fear, like a child awaiting admonishment from a teacher. Castiel held him steady, cocked his head to the side for a moment, and looked over Dean’s shoulder to take a calming breath. Rage was not the appropriate response though Castiel felt he had enough to fuel him to the moon and back. 

“There is nothing wrong with you, Dean Winchester, and if you ever say something like that again, I will take that crowbar in the barn and beat every awful word you say about yourself into the Impala.” Dean’s face screwed up with indignation, mouth opening to retort, but it blanched when Castiel’s expression intensified. “And you’ve seen what I can do with a crowbar.”

Dean snorted and tried to look away, but Castiel held his face tight. Dean cast his gaze down instead. “Why are we like this, Cas?” he asked softly, and Castiel felt something inside him break chest hitching, and it felt like he had a softball stuck in his throat. 

“There’s nothing wrong with us, Dean,” Castiel said softly, using a thumb to catch the tear that started to slip down Dean’s cheek. “You think whatever god is out there is going to turn up his nose at love in favor of hatred? It’s been a while, but I distinctly remember something about him punishing the wicked and anyone hating the righteous being condemned. Plus, the whole love thy neighbor thing.” Dean tried to shake his head. “ _Yes_ , Dean.”

Dean’s eyes closed, and his forehead fell against Castiel’s, but he didn’t move to embrace him, arms at his side, hands balled into fists. “I hate this, Cas. I hate what’s happening. I hate that it makes me wish I could go back.” His throat closed, and Castiel felt his chest hitch. “But I can’t go back. I can’t lose you. I-I-I can’t even fathom my life without you now.”

Castiel crushed Dean to him, arms wrapping him tight as the sobs came, Dean’s arms curling under Castiel’s and burying his face in Castiel’s neck. Castiel held him close, tears sliding down his nose and into Dean’s hair. Castiel should have known something like this would happen. It had been quiet on all fronts since Dean came out, and they’d been so happy they’d let their guard down. 

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel murmured brokenly against Dean’s hair, guilt lacerating him. “I should have… I wish I could have protected you from this.”

Dean pushed back, and Castiel reluctantly let him, keeping his hands on Dean’s biceps. “I don’t need you to protect me.” He wiped angrily at his face. “I need people to not be assholes.”

Castiel let out a watery laugh, sniffling and Dean’s face softened, giving Castiel a small smile, but it didn’t last. Dean’s eyes filled again as he bit his bottom lip, brutally a wounded look taking over his features.

“How… how can they think I’m a danger to… to… I would never hurt a kid, Cas. _Never.”_

Castiel growled and snatched him close again, the heat of his rage threatening to blow his limbs off his body. Dean’s chin rested on his shoulder, hugging Castiel back and finally let himself be held. Once they’d both calmed down a bit, Castiel pulled back to look at Dean, his cheeks red and blotchy under his freckles, eyes so hopeless and sad it lacerated him.

Castiel held his face again, holding his gaze, and Dean swallowed, waiting. “Fuck them.”

Dean laughed, head turning to the side before he finally untangled himself from Castiel, rubbing his face hard. He let his arms fall to his sides, hands planting on his hips, and managed a genuine smile. “I’m certainly a bad influence on you, aren’t I?” One hand came up to hold one of Castiel’s wrists. 

“Other way around, buddy.” 

Dean smirked. “Okay, pal.”

Castiel fought a grin. “Sounds good, _friend_.”

Dean lifted a finger, pointing it at Castiel’s nose. “Hey, _best_ friend.”

“With benefits.” Castiel’s lips ghosted over Dean’s, and he relished in the feel of Dean’s eyelashes tickling his cheek. 

“All of them.”

Their mouths met, and both lost themselves in the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


	8. One Last Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel calls Sam.

That night, after Dean fell asleep, Castiel laid awake for a long time despite his fatigue. His brain wouldn’t turn off, fingertips playing over the soft skin of Dean’s bicep as his arm slowly went numb under the weight of Dean’s neck. Usually, Castiel would just concentrate on the warm gust of breath fanning against his sternum and the weight of Dean’s hand over his heart, but the day’s events were too troubling. 

Dean was better. They spent the evening finishing painting the front room, Dean teaching Castiel how to do trim before telling him to just help him by moving the ladder and holding up the can for Dean to reload his brush. A smile quirked at Castiel’s lips at a memory that seemed like a lifetime ago, standing with Sam next to the Monte while Dean was running a length of wire under the hood. Sam had been trimming for him, but Dean eventually took the job from him and did it himself. His brother had rolled his eyes. _Jeez, you’re bossy._ Then Sam laughed. _And short._ Dean had kicked his foot out, but Sam was too quick, dancing away from the assault and laughing mockingly.

Castiel lifted his head, Dean murmuring as he was jostled, and his eyes landed on Dean’s phone, plugged in on his bedside table. Castiel lowered back down, turning his head to press his face into Dean’s hair and weighed the breach of privacy versus the chance to _really_ help. Castiel closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Dean’s hair, hoping he was making the right decision.

It wasn’t that hard to slip out of bed and hold Dean’s phone up to his face to get it open. Castiel tip-toed quietly out of the room and down the stairs, opening Dean’s phone app and trying not to look at anything else. Luckily, Sam’s contact was at the top of his favorites. Castiel pulled out a kitchen chair and hit call, lowering himself down and resting his elbows on the table. 

It rang four times before connecting. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Hello, Sam. It’s Cas. Everything is fine.” Castiel looked at the clock on the stove. It was one a.m. here, so eleven for Sam in California. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“No, I was up.” Castiel heard the ruffle of papers in the background. “What’s going on?”

Castiel hesitated. “Do… are you in touch with anyone in town still? Besides Dean?”

“Uh… not really. I mean, I call Dad or Bobby every once in a while… why?”

Castiel told Sam the whole story. Everything he’d told Gabriel and Michael (minus the more graphic details) and then what Layla had told him. Sam, to his credit, didn’t interrupt, just hummed or scoffed at what he heard and waited for Castiel to finish. When Castiel did, he heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

“Did he tell you any of this?”

Sam let out a humorless laugh. “Uh, no. He did not. But I’m not surprised.” Sam sighed. “They _really_ tried to say that Dean was some kind of pedophile?”

Castiel winced. “It was heavily implied. Layla was more forthcoming with that detail. Dean just said they told him he was ‘a danger to children.’”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Sam murmured, and Castiel could see him rubbing his face. “And the thing at church, I just can’t, man.” Castiel heard the screech of a chair being pushed back on the line.

Castiel winced remembering the smell of burnt coffee and chai when Layla told him about Sunday’s sermon, which not only declared homosexuality a sin and same-sex couples were all going to hell but also went into great detail about _why_ the Bible claimed that. Castiel held back his argument to every point she relayed in favor of asking how Dean had responded. 

“He just sat there, Sam. Like his entire world wasn’t being attacked.” Castiel hung his head and rubbed his face before running a hand through his hair. “Head down and taking notes like every other Sunday.” 

“But you said she went to sit next to him. Made him stop.” Sam scoffed and, with no heat whatsoever, added, “The dumb ass.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “She took his hand and prayed with him. For the strength to forgive them.” Castiel’s elbow thunked hard on the table as he rubbed his forehead, tears stinging at his eyes.

The line was silent for a moment, just the sound of Castiel’s breathing, and then Sam made an effort to clear his throat. It took a few tries. “Layla’s a sweet girl. She and Dean dated a bit when they were freshmen.”

“What do we do, Sam?” Castiel knew they couldn’t fix this, but there had to be _something_ they could do.

“Lemme think about it a bit. I might have an idea, but I need to make some calls. Text me your number and I'll get with you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, I will. Thank you, Sam.”

“No, thank you, Cas. For taking care of my big brother. Give him a hug for me, will you?”

Castiel promised he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


	9. Bad-Ball Hitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel steals the Impala then has the audacity to ask Dean to teach him how to bat. Dean gets a little more than he expected.

Two weeks later, when Castiel pulled into the lot of Singer Salvage and Auto, Dean was standing out front, next to one of Lebanon PD’s two cruisers and gesturing wildly to Jody Mills. She was doing her best to take down his statement while also trying to keep him calm, but both became distracted as Castiel backed the Impala into its usual parking space. Castiel barely had time to cut off the engine before his door was ripped open.

“What the _hell,_ Castiel!” Dean’s voice boomed as Castiel climbed stoically out of the car, nudging Dean out of the way so he could close the door. “Have you lost your _goddamn_ mind?” Dean snatched the keys from his hand, and Castiel showed him his palms.

“I’m sorry I needed to run down to Wichita, and I didn’t think the Monte would make it-”

“Fucking _ask_ next time!” Dean yelled, his voice breaking from the strain. “You know I’ll let you take it. Jesus, I thought she was stolen. God, Baby, I was so scared.” 

Dean actually leaned over the hood and placed his cheek against it. Castiel rolled his eyes and fought a laugh. He glanced over at Jody, who was flipping her notepad closed. “Sorry about the mix-up, Officer Mills.”

“No problem, Castiel.” She shot him a wink before climbing into her squad car.

Castiel watched her pull out of the lot before turning his attention back to Dean, who was circling the Impala, eyes roving over her critically. When he got back around to where Castiel stood, he let out a massive sigh of relief, hand going to rub his chest. Then he scowled at Castiel.

“You’re lucky I love you, you sonnuvah bitch because if not, you’d be dead.”

Castiel just gave him a pleasant smile, which confused Dean and allowed Castiel to snatch the keys back. Dean squawked and made to reach for them again. Castiel held them out of reach and placed his other hand on Dean’s chest.

“What do you say we head to the park? Hit some balls.”

Dean was so shocked he stopped his struggle for the keys. “Is that… is that a euphemism or-”

Castiel chuckled. “No, Dean. I meant batting. I think I’m ready to learn how to bat.”

Dean’s mouth opened, and he blinked a few times, looking at the car as if asking her if she was hearing this too. “You think you’re read- Cas, you can’t just steal my car and then ask me to continue your baseball education.”

“Can.” Castiel leaned forward to peck Dean on the lips. “And did.” 

Dean watched slack-jawed as Castiel opened the door again and climbed back into the driver’s seat. He fired up the engine gestured for Dean to get in. It took him yelling, _Let’s go_! through the closed window before Dean finally relented, stomping around to the passenger side and, with a high screech, opened the door and fell into the car.

Dean pouted with his arms crossed the entire way, glaring at Castiel from the corner of his eye while the other man hummed softly to himself and enjoyed the feeling of driving a muscle car again. He really did miss the Buick.

Dean finally spoke when the baseball diamonds came into view, sitting up straight in his seat. “Uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel pulled into the nearly full lot for Diamond 1, searching for a space big enough for the Impala.

“They’re… they’re having practice.” Castiel had to grit his teeth against the broken sound of Dean’s voice. “Let’s just go home. I’ll teach you in the backfield.”

“No, look, there’s a space.” Castiel pulled into it, and Dean tried to explain again, but Castiel was already getting out of the car. 

He opened the back door, grabbing up their two gloves, and closing it on Dean’s protests. Castiel ignored Dean’s shouts for him to get back over there as he shuffled his way towards the opening in the fence near the home team dugout and Castiel thought he heard Dean mutter _Dammit, Cas_ before the passenger side door slammed closed. 

Castiel stood to the side, watching Dean stomp over his face contorted in anger as he ripped the gloves from Castiel’s hands but became immediately distracted by movement out in the field.

“There he is!” Sam exclaimed with enthusiasm, and Castiel gave Dean a hearty shove, forcing him forward to allow a group of twenty or so little girls whooping and cheering in matching pink t-shirts to surround him effectively. 

Dean looked around, dumbfounded as they tugged on his arms, all chattering excitedly at him, parents in the stands on their feet cheering as well. One little girl with red hair and a gap-toothed grin exclaimed that they were going to win the whole league this year. Another complained that the boys always got all the best coaches, and now that they had him, they weren’t giving him back. Dean shook his head, finally looking down at the little girl that was tugging insistently on his wrist, jumping up and down and saying his name over and over.

“What is it, sweetheart?” 

Castiel had to suck his bottom lip into his mouth to keep from grinning like a fool. He glanced at Sam still standing on the pitchers’ mound and found the younger Winchester hadn’t bothered, his arms crossed proudly over his chest as they watched the little girl with blond pigtails and wide blue eyes hug Dean’s hand to her chest, her rosy cheek resting against his forearm.

“Coach Dean, my brother, said you taught him to slide last year. Will you teach us to slide? Girls can do it too, I promise! We just need someone to teach us. Will you, Coach Dean? Please!” 

A chorus of “Pleeeeease” echoed around him, and Dean’s brows drew, placing a gentle hand on one girl’s shoulder to get her to hold still so he could look at her shirt. It was the same shirt he had made up before the Coaches Meeting with the addition of curly scripted “Lady” over the team name, “Impalas.”

Dean looked up slack-jawed, eyes finding his brother’s, and Sam threw out his arms, showing off his own neon pink Lady Impalas shirt, turning his back and pointing over his shoulder to show off the back which read “S. Winchester” in arching block letters and the number 14. Dean looked over his shoulder at Castiel, who had unzipped his light jacket to reveal his own violently pink shirt and stepped forward to hold out a scrap of fabric for Dean. Castiel dropped his eyes to the swarm of eight-year-olds. 

“What do we say, ladies? Put. It. On.” Castiel clapped with each word, and the girls all joyously joined in, chanting _Put. It. On._ over and over until Dean finally shook his head, wrestling it over his head and his other shirt to a chorus of _Yaaaaay_ s and more applause.

“Alright!” Dean shouted, his tone gruff, his face grave but couldn’t hold it when every girl around him silenced and returned his sober expression. He burst out laughing and shook his head again, looking over his shoulder at Castiel, who grinned at him. Dean raised his arm, grabbing Castiel by his shirt sleeve, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Haul it in, let’s go!” All the girls crowded around, slapping their hands onto of Deans, Castiel sneaking in the middle somewhere. “Impalas on 3! 1! 2! 3!”

_Impalaaaaaas!_ The girls cheered joyously, and the crowd in the stands clapped along, Layla giving a loud whistle between her fingers. Castiel grinned over his shoulder at her, and she beamed back, her son at her side cheering on his little sister.

Dean turned his eyes to Castiel and immediately went misty, cheeks reddening as he turned away from the field. Sam clapped his hands together twice and hollered, “Okay, Lady Impalas, let’s stretch!” They all scampered away, a few hugging Dean’s waist tight before taking off. Castiel followed Dean out the opening in the fence and placed a hand on his shoulder as he flopped back against the back of the dugout, bending at the waist as he sucked in deep breaths.

“What the fuck, Cas?” He chuckled, his voice watery with emotion before pressing his forefinger and thumb to his eyes hard. 

Castiel rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blade, taking a deep breath and surveying the parked cars around them. “Turns out some of the wives were pretty pissed about what happened, especially the ones who had boys you’d coached before. A lot of them had daughters.” Dean looked up at him, eyes watery, and Castiel gave a shrug. “Little League Softball struggles for sponsors. I had originally asked Ellen at Harvelle’s to sponsor, but once Bobby got wind of it, he was offended I didn’t ask him first given _he’s_ the one that’s got the eight-foot pride flag hanging in his shop.” Dean’s bark of laughter made Castiel grin, chuckling as well. “So, Bobby gets double the exposure sponsoring two teams, and you’ll be playing the Harvelle’s Jiggers a few times this season.”

“Jo coaching?” Castiel nodded, and Dean pushed himself off the wall. “We’ll kick their ass.”

Dean snatched Castiel into a bear hug, and Castiel’s hands came up under his arms, pressing them to Dean’s shoulder blades. He felt Dean burying his face in his neck to breathe him in before he rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel’s hand came up to run over the back of Dean’s head. “I know it’s just a band-aid-”

“It’s more than that,” Dean said, giving him a rough squeeze, and Castiel huffed a laugh. Dean pulled back enough to look into Castiel’s face. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole.”

“Forgiven. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying closer attention.”

“Forgiven.” Dean paused, his eyes going unsure. Castiel’s brows furrowed in question, and Dean pressed his lips together, nose brushing Castiel’s. “Love you, Cas.” Dean’s voice was doleful and low, long lashes fanning out obscenely from wide green eyes.

Castiel grinned, nuzzling back. “I know.” Dean grinned. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading! I meant to post this all in one go but making the dumb text conversations took WAY longer than anticipated.
> 
> Also here's a shot of the Lady Impalas jerseys 😊
> 
> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


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